Isabella’s POV

The car ride to Damien’s penthouse felt like the longest of my life.

I sat in the back seat of the sleek black sedan he sent, my hands trembling in my lap. The contract I signed yesterday still felt unreal, like a dream I should have woken from with a racing heart and a guilty ache between my thighs.

But the car was real.

The text from his private number was real.

“Be ready. 8PM sharp. No panties.” —Sir.

And so here I was. Obeying. Wet before I even ...